


i'm a lover not a fighter (cause way down deep inside i've got a dream)

by kmwrites



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Tangled AU, baz is flynn, simon is rapunzel, the mage is an asshole :)) but that's nothing new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmwrites/pseuds/kmwrites
Summary: Simon Snow has always lived in the tower.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	i'm a lover not a fighter (cause way down deep inside i've got a dream)

The morning that the boy arrived, Simon awoke with a start.

The room was still. He lay there for a moment, arms crossed over his stomach, listened to the curtains rustle against the open window. He half expected someone to come climbing through, or to hear a voice calling for him from downstairs, something to explain the panic that he had come to with and the nerves that built in his stomach, but the eerie calmness continued.

He swung his legs over the side, and the splinters that poked out of the wooden planks scratched against his feet. He walked over and closed the window- the hangings around his bed were swept back, and his duvet was rustled at the foot of the bed, but the Mage never came upstairs, so he didn’t bother fixing it.

He swept the floor downstairs. Burnt another batch of cookies. Read the old storybooks again. His paints were almost finished, the tubes empty at first glance, and his walls were almost completely covered. Still, he managed to find an empty spot that he had never noticed before, a patch of blank wall behind two blue panels that he had always assumed was a window. He dragged a dining table chair over and climbed up on it, the legs shaky and unstable, and traced out the stars. 

As he was finishing, holding the palette in one hand and his paintbrush in the other, he heard a calling of his name from outside the window. He shut the blue panels over the wall again and scrambled to the floor, took the chair back over to his table and set it neatly underneath, and then he ran to the window and threw back the curtains. Leaning out, he could see the Mage standing on the grass below, dressed in the same green jacket and trousers as always. He was holding a basket over one arm, and when he saw Simon hanging out to watch him, he raised a hand. 'Simon!' he called. 'Throw the rope down.'

Simon stood back up and then leaned over, taking the rope from where it sat below the window. He tossed it over the windowsill and letting it fall messily to the ground. He only watched for a second to see the Mage take hold of it before he stepped back, pulling the rope back through the window until it was collapsing to the floor behind him in loops, and finally the Mage clambered through.

'Here,' he said, handing the basket to Simon, 'soup and bread from the market. You can eat half of it tonight, keep the rest for tomorrow.'

Simon nodded. It wasn't much, and as he set it down on the counter he knew that he wouldn't be able to save half of it for the next day. It was alright. He had sugar and butter and flour left over, and he was sure that if he sat and watched the oven he would be able to get through the baking of a batch of cookies or scones without burning them like he usually did. 

'Thanks,' he said, and then, because he couldn't help himself, 'it's my birthday tomorrow.'

The Mage was peering behind sofa cushions and under the table, as if was inspecting, searching for anything out of place. He didn't react for a few seconds. 'Has that come around already?' he said. Simon nodded.

'Yeah,' he said, 'I think we talked about it. The other day. You know, when you brought the butter. I was saying, about the paints, I need new ones, and I was wondering-'

'And I believe I told you then that it's a lot to ask. I'd have to travel a long way, there isn't time.'

'Right, yeah, sorry. But I was wondering, since you said no about the paints, if I could go and- and properly see the lights.'

'The lights?'

Before he could think too hard about it, Simon took the chair again and carried it to the blue panels, climbing up onto it and opening them. 'See?' he said, gesturing to the painting. Deep blue background sprinkled with stars, bright and clustered together. 

'What is this?' the Mage said.

'Every year,' Simon said, just like he had rehearsed in front of his mirror, 'on my birthday, there are stars.'

'There are stars every night, Simon.'

'Yes, I- I know, but it's special. There are more of them on my birthday, they float upwards, like... like they're flying away.'

'Well, if you know about them, then you must have seen them before. Why are you telling me about this?'

'Because, because, because I'd like to see them closer. I watch them from the window every year, but I want to find out what they are. Why. I just imagine the people in the villages, crowding to watch, and I want to be a part of it. I want to see them, properly.'

The Mage watched him carefully for a long minute, and then his eyes narrowed. 'You want to leave this tower,' he said. Simon nodded.

'Yes. I'll be eighteen, you know, and I've only ever seen this tower.'

'Get down from there.'

Simon stepped down from the chair. 'What- what do you say?'

'I say that you are not leaving this tower, not now.'

'Well then when?' Simon said, louder than he had intended. 

'Simon, it isn't safe-'

'You always say that, but I don't understand why! Other people leave. You leave!'

He half expected the Mage to start shouting, to take his soup and bread and leave in a fit of rage, but instead he only sighed. 'It isn't safe for _you_ ,' he said. 'Simon, you're... you're different. You aren't really all there. You jump at your own shadow. You won't be able to tell when you're being tricked. You're- and I say this because I care about you- a little ditzy, and getting kind of chubby. They'll eat you alive out there.'

Simon bit at his thumb nail. 'But-'

'I won't hear any more about this. It isn't happening. Simon. You know why I'm doing this, don't give me that look. You're not like everyone else.' He walked towards Simon and took him by the head, shaking it back and forth a little too roughly. 'If people find out what you can do, they'll try and steal it. They'll want your magic. It's a precious thing, Simon, it's craved by people who can never understand it. They'll ask you for it, and I'm afraid you'll be naive enough to give it to them.'

Simon didn't say anything, and the Mage left. On his way out of the window, he turned back. 'I'll try and get you those paints,' he said, 'but I can't make any promises. Just- no more of this light business, please.'

Simon nodded. He didn't know what else to do.

* * *

Baz's legs ached. He almost tripped over his feet as he ran, raggedy brown back over one shoulder. He could hear the galloping of the king's horses behind him, the feet of Dev and Niall as they thumped against the forest floor. He could hear it, knew it was there, knew what would happen if he were to be caught- he had seen flashes, dreamt every night of damp brown rooms with cold stone walls and bars on the window, crowds cheering in anticipation as he was led to the gallows. 

The forest floor dipped down into a hill at his feet. He stumbled down, his feet sliding in the mud, and the noise of the guards began to fade behind him as he continued forward. He gripped one of the trees, hunched over and gasping, wincing at the sharp pain in his side.

‘Come on, man,’ said Niall, ‘still got the satchel?’

Baz held it up. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘just give a minute.’

There was a scuffling somewhere in the difference and then the loud huffing of a horse. Baz twisted his head back to see the guards and their horses skid to a halt at the stop of the hill, their eyes setting on him. He straightened up. Dev and Niall had already taken off at a sprint.

The other side of the ditch was steep, too steep to scale or pull themselves up. ‘Alright,’ Baz said, ‘you guys give me a lift up, and then I’ll pull you up.’

Dev scoffed. ‘You really expect us to trust you?’

‘Come on. Of course I will.’

‘Give us the satchel,’ said Niall, crossing his arms over his chest. Baz frowned.

‘No!’ he said, ‘just- listen, just trust me on this. They’ll be here soon; we don’t have time to stand around arguing. Look, here.’ He thrust the satchel towards them, and Niall took it eagerly. ‘Here. Now, would you help me up?’

The two of them glanced between each other- Baz had always resented that, the way that they could talk without every saying a word, planning and scheming behind his back- and then stepped forward. For a moment, Baz thought that, now that they had the satchel, they were going to grab and overpower him, but then Niall scrambled onto Dev’s shoulders and Baz climbed onto his in turn. On his way, as one of his feet was on Dev’s shoulder and the other was scrambling at the rocks on the wall, he slipped the satchel off of Niall’s arm where he was hooked over his wrist. He waited for a moment, not long enough to cause any suspicion, but neither of them noticed, too preoccupied by holding themselves up.

He gripped at the rocks and willed them not to slip as he pulled himself onto the grass above, silently thanking years of running from policemen and thugs with all that he had. When his feet landed safely on the soft grass, still wet from the morning dew, there was no sign of the guards or of their horses.

‘Alright,’ said Niall, holding out the arm that had been holding the satchel. He stared at it, and then down at the ground.

‘What is it?’ called Dev, ‘Baz, help him up.’

‘Sorry,’ Baz said, holding out the satchel, ‘I think it’s time we split up now. Go our own ways.’

He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing himself to his feet and setting off at another run. The trees were thicker up ahead, and it wasn’t long until the shouting of Dev and Niall faded into the distance, and Baz felt a slight twinge of guilt. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Dev and Niall: they were loyal accomplices, and good company on the lonely dark nights of waiting for the Coven to burst in and arrest the lot of them. But he couldn’t have anyone slowing him down, and the association of them only made it more likely for someone to recognise Baz himself. His ‘WANTED’ poster wasn’t particularly accurate, and he could probably take a wander around the market without being spotted, but everyone knew the faces of Dev and Niall.

He swept back a hanging of vines and ducked through into an opening. The first thought that struck him was that it was like something out of a storybook, scatterings of daises and dandelions, the green field stretching as far as the eye could see, and right in the middle was a brick tower. He bent his head back to look properly up at it- some of the bricks were yellow, others pink and purple, and there was an open window towards the top, just below the round, pointed roof.

He walked slowly towards it, now that he was sure he had shaken the guards off his tail. Along with the crown in his satchel- glee struck him as he thought of the Coven, shouting back and forth in the crown room, no one quite sure what to do next- he had his grappling hugs. He dug one of them into the wall, and then the other, and carried on climbing with his feet slipping frantically against the bricks until he reached the window.

The curtains billowed in the open breeze. He swept them back and hooked one leg over the windowsill, looking around the room. Baz had been expecting it to be empty, a barren abandoned tower, but instead what he found was a circular room with walls covered in paintings of every colour, so bright and beautiful that it took him aback for a moment. There was a small kitchen, soup and bread sitting on the counter, and a dining room table that was missing a chair. Baz spotted it on the other side of the room, placed carefully below a closed window.

He narrowed his eyes. It was a room that was so clearly lived in, cared for lovingly, and the subtle unorganized mess drew Baz in further. Someone was still there.

Both his feet landed on the floor. There was a rickety wooden staircase in the corner, leading up to another door. He pushed himself to his feet and gripped the satchel tight against his side, but before he could take another step forward, there was a sharp pain on the back of his head, and the world around him went dark as his legs gave way.

**Author's Note:**

> sksks i haven't written fanfic since i was literally twelve so i hope you enjoyed this :) i wrote this same thing a few years ago and it wasn't great and i deleted it so i hope i've improved lol. please leave comments!! feedback is wonderful


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